Page 19 of One Little Mistake

Max

The nightlight is on in the room. Erin stands by the window, her back to me. She flinches slightly when the door clicks shut behind me and we’re left alone.

Once again, I find myself studying her figure.

Not stick-thin like Cynthia. Erin has long legs, perfect posture, and a head of thick, beautiful hair.

She looks meek, at least on the surface, not the type to be a schemer.

And judging by everything, probably loyal too.

Her boyfriend is a complete idiot for leaving her.

Though, to be fair, my ex-wife also seemed perfect at first, and look how that turned out.

“I’m heading out for a few hours,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to explain myself. “Cynthia’s too scared to drive in the blizzard, so I’m taking her home. I’ll be back right after.”

I realize I’m drawing a very clear line between me and my ex, for my own sake, as much as for Erin’s.

She turns to face me. A tiny wrinkle forms between her perfectly shaped brows. She’s clearly thinking hard about something. Then she breathes out, relaxes a little, and steps toward the bed.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. And nothing’s going to happen to me if you’re not home overnight. I feel fine.”

Yeah. She definitely misunderstood the whole situation.

Erin lifts the corner of the blanket and hides underneath it, shielding herself from my gaze.

“I’ll try to be quick,” I say, lingering for a second. “If you want, I can crash on the couch. I get it. I’m a stranger to you, and you probably don’t want to share a bed.”

Lie. I don’t get it at all. I’m just saying it to be polite. Honestly, even if she asked me to sleep on the couch, I’d still end up in the bedroom. After half a year of wrecking my back on a lumpy mattress, sleeping in my own bed feels like pure bliss.

“No, it’s fine. It’s your home, after all. I already feel bad enough for everything that happened and for bothering you again,” she says softly. “Just… grab an extra blanket from the closet, please.”

“Sure,” I nod, then head into the walk-in closet to grab some warmer clothes.

“Sweet dreams,” I toss over my shoulder as I leave the room, immediately spotting Cynthia pacing back and forth in the hallway, her heels clacking loudly against the floor.

“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my car keys from the console, throwing on my jacket, and steering my ex firmly toward the door.

Cynthia stays silent, her face tense, her mind clearly racing. Every few steps she sneaks strange glances at me, like she wants to say something but doesn’t. Fine by me.

I swear, if she so much as hints about “giving us another chance”, I’m kicking her out of the car. Right there. Blizzard or not.

“New car?” she asks, arching an eyebrow when we get to the parking garage and I disable the alarm.

“Yeah, just bought it,” I say, deciding that opening the door for her would be way too much—she can manage. I walk around to the driver’s side, get behind the wheel, and wait until Cynthia climbs into the SUV herself. Then I start the engine, crank up the heater, and pull onto the street.

There’s already a good amount of snow on the ground.

The roads are covered, but not so badly that you can’t drive at all.

I keep my speed slow, the wipers working overtime.

Every now and then, we pass another car.

The heavy silence between us feels suffocating, so I turn on the radio, but halfway through the ride, Cynthia reaches out and turns the volume down.

She pins me with a stare and finally can’t keep her sharp tongue in check.

“Yeah, there’s no way that kid is yours,” she snorts, her eyes glinting with the smug satisfaction of someone who thinks they’ve just solved a great mystery.

“You never even wanted your own kids that much before. So I have to wonder—what is it about this Erin that made you agree to take her in with…” She pauses, searching for the right word. “With the extra baggage.”

“That’s none of your damn business,” I snap through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel harder.

“It’s just interesting,” she presses on, ignoring the warning in my glare.

“Is she in love with you—or your money? What? It’s convenient, isn’t it?

Finding some big-hearted fool like you and wrapping him around her little finger.

You always were eager to help everyone, handing out loans, never asking for them back, even a year later.

You’re too easy to manipulate,” she finishes smugly, and I roll my eyes.

I’ve heard this speech way too many times before.

“I’d say you ranked first in taking advantage of me.”

“I’m being serious, Max,” she says sharply. “Think about your future. Why would you settle for a woman with another man’s kid when you could have your own?”

“Erin would make a damn good mother for my kid,” I lie without hesitation, and the way it makes Cynthia even more furious gives me a small flicker of satisfaction.

“At least she sure as hell wouldn’t bail on me in a tough moment just because I couldn’t afford to bankroll all her whims,” I add, hitting right where it hurts the most—at the sore spot of our past relationship.

“You know it wasn’t like that,” she says in a trembling voice, turning toward the window.

I can bet her silence won’t last long.

We pull up to Cynthia’s building around 1 a.m. The roads are already buried under a thick layer of snow. I know going back out there isn’t exactly the best idea, but leaving Erin alone in the apartment on her first night back from the hospital doesn’t sit right with me, either.

What if something happens?

Sure, I could crash at my parents’ place and head back in the morning, but there’s no telling how bad the roads will get overnight. Better to head back now while it’s still manageable—even if barely.

“Well? You getting out or what?” I say, glancing at Cynthia, who’s still glued to the window and not moving.

“Sorry, but I’m not about to play Prince Charming and open your door for you. It’s freezing out there.”

“And you… you’re not staying the night?” she asks timidly, turning to face me—though there’s no trace of shyness or innocence in her eyes. She bites her lower lip and looks at me hopefully, waiting.

“Where exactly?” I arch a brow, studying her face.

Hard to believe I was once head over heels for her—though maybe not that surprising. Cynthia always knew how to present herself, how to be witty, charming.

And how to lie straight to my face without blinking. How to play me like a damn fiddle.

“At your parents’ house, maybe. Driving tonight is suicide. Look at that snowstorm—you can’t see a damn thing,” she presses.

“It didn’t bother you the whole time we were barreling down buried streets,” I say with a smirk, seeing right through her ploy to get me to stay. “But now you’re playing the voice of reason?”

“Don’t twist my words. You know exactly what I meant. Don’t be an idiot, Max. I’ll worry,” she adds, softening her voice.

“I’ll text you,” I say dryly. “Now get out. I still have to drive back.”

“Be careful,” she whispers as she lingers for a moment, her eyes scanning my face before she lets out a heavy sigh. “And do something about that beard—you look like a monk.”

She yanks the door handle and clumsily climbs out, letting a blast of freezing air into the car before slamming it shut.

I watch to make sure Cynthia gets safely inside her building before I slowly pull away from the curb.

Visibility is crap—maybe a meter at best. The wipers can’t keep up with the snow piling onto the windshield. I creep along at a snail’s pace, staring absently at the swirling white flakes. If I weren’t so focused on not crashing, I’d probably be admiring the beauty of it.

Feels like it’s been years since I really saw snow—probably three winters ago, since I usually spend the season out at sea.

My eyes are practically glued shut from exhaustion. It’s two in the morning, and there’s not a soul in sight. At this point, I’m not even sure I’m heading in the right direction. No street signs. No traffic lights. No recognizable turns. Just endless white.

I have no choice but to switch on the GPS and follow the little blinking dot on the screen.

The wind howls around the car, snow swirling violently, and twice I nearly skid out taking a turn. I’m starting to seriously regret my decision. I should’ve stayed at my parents’ place. Or hell, just kicked Cynthia out into the snow and forgotten she ever existed.

About two blocks from home, the inevitable happens. The SUV gets stuck.

No matter how much I hit the gas, how much I rock the damn thing back and forth—the tires just spin uselessly in a massive drift.

“Perfect,” I mutter through gritted teeth and slam my palms against the steering wheel.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep a lid on my frustration. Fine. I’ll wait a bit, see if the blizzard dies down. If not, I’ll walk it. Two kilometers, give or take? I can manage that. Anything to get back to Erin and the baby.

I try to keep my mind busy, to stop it from drifting where it wants to go—back to Cynthia, our marriage, and all the what-ifs.

The truth is, I gave her too much. Spoiled her. Never said no. Let her believe she owned me, that I’d never leave.

She didn’t realize… I liked making her happy. I liked the sparkle in her eyes when I did something right. I liked thinking I had someone to fight for, to build a future with.

But it was all an illusion. The biggest disappointment of my life.

I listen to music, scroll aimlessly through my phone, but by around three in the morning, I finally crack and decide to step outside.

Good thing I dressed warmly.

I grab my gloves off the back seat, zip my jacket all the way up, pull on a beanie, kill the engine, and shove the door open. A blast of snow whips into the car immediately.

I step out and shudder under the brutal wind—it smacks me square in the face, and my boots sink deep into the snow.

For a few seconds, I hesitate, questioning my life choices. Should I even try to get home tonight?

But stubbornness wins. I mutter a few choice words under my breath, square my shoulders, and start trudging forward, praying my phone doesn’t die before I can navigate through the maze of side streets.

It only takes a few minutes for the freezing wind to start stinging my face like needles. Every step feels heavier, like I’m wading through quicksand.

God, what a mess I got myself into. I keep grumbling to myself, cursing every bad decision that led me here. Snow keeps slapping me right in the eyes, making it almost impossible to see.

The only small mercy? About fifteen minutes in, I take a left turn, and now the wind is finally at my back instead of pummeling me head-on. Walking gets a little easier—but the cold still cuts to the bone.

And then, just when I start to think maybe I’ll make it, my phone battery dies with a pathetic little beep.

I groan loudly, standing there in the middle of the snowstorm.

Perfect. Just perfect.